Sweet Dreams
by MyLuckyStars
Summary: None of them could have possibly hoped that they could escape the Department of Mysteries completely unscathed. A series of shorts. WIP


_**disclaimer:**_ The world of Harry Potter and it's characters don't belong to me. They belong to the wonderful JKR.

* * *

Breakfast in the Great Hall was often a very noisy affair. The clanking of silverware on plates, and the constant barrage of conversation filling the air were common place. That morning, however, Ron noticed that the room was rather subdued. Quite a few students had their eyes glued to their plates, and very few people were having conversations. Those that were, spoke in hushed voices, constantly glancing over their shoulder as if afraid of being found out.

His shoes clicked loudly as he made his way over to the Gryffindor table. The noise seemed to rise up to the enchanted ceiling, where the sound vibrated and resonated back down. Ron was painfully aware of the fact that several people were staring at him. They wore worried expressions, and if something horrific was about to happen.

"Did I miss something?" Ron asked as he sat down across from Harry and Hermione. Harry had a vacant sort of expression on his face, and Hermione made a stifled noise in the back of her throat. He was about to press them further, when he noticed that a heavy silence had fallen over the room. Several students were glancing at watches, as if waiting for something to happen.

The doors to the Great Hall burst open, and to Ron's complete and utter disbelief, three Death Eaters stormed in. Harry stiffened in his seat, back ramrod straight and fingers clenching the edge of the table. Ron was shocked, and his attention snapped from the Death Eaters to the head table. All the professors were bent over their plates, acting as if nothing was happening. McGonagall was pointedly reading her newspaper, eyes glued to the text, but Ron noticed that her hand was clenching a goblet and it shook slightly. It seemed all the professors were trying very hard to not look up from their meal. It suddenly dawned on Ron that Professor Dumbledore had been missing that morning, and cold dread seeped into his chest, sinking like a chunk of ice.

He looked back to Harry, and his face seemed to be frozen into a mask of fear. He had become extremely pale, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. Hermione, who was sitting next to Harry, was bent over her bowl of porridge. Like the professors, she was trying her hardest to ignore what was happening. Students all over the Great Hall had eyes fixed on the wooden planks of their house tables. The Slytherins didn't even dare to look at the Death Eaters.

The figures in black cloaks were drawing even closer, and Ron turned back to his friends. "What's going on?" He whispered frantically. Hermione continued to eat her porridge, but Ron now noticed that tears were steaming down her cheeks and falling to the table, creating a salty puddle.

"Ron, you, I mean you're…" Harry seemed shocked that he was taking notice to what was happening, and a glimmer of hope seemed to pass over his face. "Ron, you've got to help me. Don't let them take me again!"

"Harry, what do you mean? Why is everyone ignoring a group of Death Eaters in the Great Hall?" The Death Eaters drew closer and still, no one was doing anything. "Come on Harry, we've got to fight them!" Ron was shocked that his friend wasn't already taking cover or at least drawing his wand.

"I can't Ron." Harry whispered. Ron had never seen him in so much turmoil. There was deep fear etched into his green eyes, and he had the look of a defeated, broken soul.

"What do you mean you can't?" Ron demanded. The could dread was turning to hot fear, spreading up through his throat, trying to fight it's way out his mouth.

"I mean I physically can't!"

Ron frowned at this and tried to get up. That's when the full impact of what Harry was saying finally hit him. It felt like he was attached to the bench, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't pull his wand from the pocket of his robes. His hand closed around it, but every time he tried to pull it out of the pocket, it caught, tangled in the yards of fabric.

"Harry, why can't I move?" Ron was yelling, his voice echoing in the dead silence of the Great Hall. It was to late. The Death Eaters' hands were already latching onto Harry's shoulders, roughly hoisting him from the bench. They dragged him along the isle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff table, Harry kicking and screaming, trying to act like a dead weight.

"Ron! Please don't let them take me." His hand reached out to his friend, terror plastered onto his face. "Help me please! Ron, you've got to help me!" Harry was finally pulled through the doors, and once they shut with a heavy thud, sound began to flood back into the Great Hall.

"So have you finished your transfigurations homework, or did you put it off again?" Ron turned to look at Hermione, his mouth gaping open. She looked as if nothing had happened; in fact, everyone in the Great Hall seemed to have gone back to business as usual.

"What's wrong with you!" Ron demanded.

"You don't have to snap at me. I was just wondering if you needed some help before we went to class." She gave him an annoyed glower and returned to her meal, but Ron then noticed that her cheeks still shone with tears.

"This isn't right." Ron whispered hoarsely. "This isn't right!" He repeated again, throwing the words at Hermione. He tried to scramble away from her, and no longer fixed to the bench, his heal caught on the edge of it and he toppled backward. Ron pulled himself up from the floor, and hurried down the isle between the house tables.

His attention was fixed on the doors leaving the Great Hall. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, it registered that Malfoy was calling after him, taunting him.

"Mr. Weasley, where do you think you're going!" Professor McGonagall had stood, and she was yelling after Ron. He ignored her, intent on passing through those doors. "You are_ not _to leave this room. _Stop this instant!_"

Ron's hand latched onto the handle, and with a tug, he pulled the doors open, and was greeted with a blinding white light.


End file.
